


asthenia

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Series: salt in the wounds [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Hurt!Stiles, M/M, Secret Relationship, Set During 5.17 - A Credible Threat, Set During 5.18 - The Maid of Gévaudan, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9486353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: It shouldn’t surprise him anymore, that things didn’t go according to plan.[sequel toabnegation.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a while. To say the least. I'm sorry, y'all. Life happened.
> 
> But I'm back for now and I'm one-hundred percent in love with this ship. Again. 
> 
> Thank you for the continued support. I love you all.
> 
> This is unbetaed as always, but please enjoy! :-)

Stiles meets Theo in an abandoned road near the Beacon Hills Preserve after he sees Lydia off. 

Theo’s already there when he arrives, leaning back against his truck, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He straightens his back when Stiles jumps out of the Jeep, takes two steps in Stiles’ direction, eyebrows coming together in a frown.

“You’re hurt.”

It’s the way Theo says it, almost feral. Possessive.

Stiles has to ignore the primal instinct in his gut, the one that makes him want to grab Theo by his vest and forget about everything else. 

He brushes Theo’s hand away when it comes up to his face to stroke the path of dried blood down his ear and neck. He mutters, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

There’s a flash of anger in Theo’s eyes that soon fades into indifference. He steps back, his feet dragging against the dirt as he moves to his original spot against his truck.

“How’s Lydia?” he asks.

“She has a hole in her head filled with mistletoe.” Stiles raises his eyebrows, gestures at himself. “Oh, and she almost killed me, so—great.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“She’s fine. No thanks to you.” Stiles sighs. “Like you care.”

Theo smiles, the curve of his lip a little on the cynical side. Something flares up Stiles’ chest and lodges itself in his throat—white-hot and painful.

“I don’t.” Theo looks at Stiles like he wants to say _she’d be better off dead,_ but doesn’t. He wets his lips instead, leaves them shiny and red and—okay, maybe this isn’t the time to feel whatever this _feeling_ is that's blooming in Stiles’ chest. Theo cocks an eyebrow. “You do.”

Theo’s tone is almost accusatory. 

Stiles grinds his teeth together, counts to five and back. 

It’s _fine_. He’s human; humans have needs. His body has needs. It’s completely, one-hundred percent normal to want to rip Theo’s clothes in half and have him right there even though he almost got killed an hour ago, even though he almost lost a friend an hour ago.

Right? _Normal._

Because everything happening in his life is normal.

He finds Theo’s eyes and holds their gaze for a second, watches as Theo smirks in slow motion—the little shit. He knows what he’s doing. He knows _Stiles knows_ what’s he’s doing, and yet it couldn’t matter less. To either of them.

It doesn’t take a werewolf’s senses to notice the flush in Theo’s neck, even under the night sky. Or how painfully his heart is probably beating under his chest, or how dark his eyes are even as they glow bright and blue and animalistic.

Stiles shortens the distance between them, stands an arm’s length away so he can get a good look at Theo’s current state. He’s not exactly put together, not after the entire ordeal at Eichen House. 

There’s a dark spot on his jeans where the blood seeped through, and the wound probably hasn’t completely healed, judging by the way Theo’s supporting his weight on his other leg. His hair is disheveled, like someone ran their hand through it—and a pang of jealousy hits Stiles square in the chest at the thought before logic kicks in. There’s only so much hair gel can do when you’re fighting a Hellhound.

Stiles laughs, humorless. It hurts. The blood rushing to his head plus the damage Lydia’s done to his ears, but he can hear Theo’s labored breath, see Theo’s mouth twitch—and the pain isn’t as important as that.

“Stiles,” comes the warning.

For all that his brain tells him he shouldn't want this, his body is responding to Theo’s like it needs nothing more than to feel Theo under him. 

His breath catches in his throat at Theo’s angry snarl when Stiles can’t undo Theo’s belt fast enough and Theo has to take over, at Theo’s moan when they climb into the back of Theo’s truck and Stiles slides his thigh between Theo’s legs.

It isn’t exactly comfortable. They’re hurt, they’re bleeding, and they’re half-naked in the back of a truck. It’s messy, it’s wrong, it’s complicated, but it’s _good_.

At some point, this became normal for them.

There’s a hint of desperation in Theo’s movements as he breathes loudly against the side of Stiles’ neck, as his hand finds the waistband of Stiles’ boxers. Stiles closes his eyes. Theo strokes him like they have all the time in the world, fingers warm and curled around the length of Stiles’ dick.

It’s a little hard to think about anything else. Not that Stiles is trying, but when even breathing feels like a chore, something’s probably wrong—or very, very right.

“Fuck,” Stiles protests when Theo’s hand leaves him. He opens his eyes and breathes in vain. Theo’s sat back on his heels, thighs on either side of Stiles’ hips. He’s pulling his shirt over his head, slower than he should and yet not slow enough. 

Stiles is torn between wanting to touch him and wanting to watch him. Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it. Theo shirtless above him, hair tousled and lips parted, jeans unbuttoned to reveal the outline of his hard dick against his underwear.

The dark side’s never been so appealing.

Theo smirks down at him. Stiles’ dick twitches in return, starts leaking against his navel as he watches Theo spit into his palm and reach inside his boxers. Stiles is opening his mouth to speak when Theo bends down and kisses him, swallows his words and his thoughts and everything he has.

Stiles thrusts up and slides wetly against Theo’s cock and hand. He feels Theo smile into the kiss and then loses his breath for Theo all over again when Theo wraps his fingers around them both. 

It takes them a moment to fall in sync, their cocks rubbing and sliding inside Theo’s palm and against each other. The sound alone is obscene, but the feel of the wet back and forth, of Theo’s tongue in his mouth, of Theo’s hair between his fingers—it’s simultaneously too much and not enough.

Theo breaks the kiss and thrusts harder against Stiles’ dick. He presses his forehead to Stiles’, closes his eyes, breathes in and out through his mouth as he picks up his pace. Stiles watches him as his movements grow more insistent, slightly frantic. 

“Fuck, Stiles,” Theo moans. 

A bead of sweat slides down the bridge of his nose and drips against Stiles’ cheek. He’s beautiful like this—desperate and eager and broken.

Stiles says nothing, just moves his hand from Theo’s hair to Theo’s ass and pulls him closer, continues to rut against him. Theo’s losing rhythm. The arm that’s propped up beside Stiles’ head is shaking, just like the hand around their cocks. Theo’s not making any sense, muttering Stiles’ name and words Stiles isn’t sure even exist.

All it takes is another thrust of Stiles’ hips and he’s coming all over his fingers and Stiles. He throws his head back and _growls_ —and it’s the hottest fucking thing Stiles has ever heard. Another twist of Theo's wrist and Stiles’ cock spasms, his fingers digging into the skin of Theo’s ass as he comes. Theo rides the rest of Stiles’ orgasm with him. His fangs are out, sharp. His eyes shift from amber to blue like he can’t control it. 

Stiles isn’t sure he can.

Theo melts against him, drops like deadweight. Stiles’ middle is still sore from where he got a chest full of Corey, but the pain’s bearable and Theo’s warm, almost feverish, so Stiles just closes his eyes and kisses Theo, all tamed animosity and exhaustion.

Theo pulls away and kisses Stiles again, mouths at Stiles’ jawline, Stiles’ neck, Stiles’ chest.

“I’m sorry," he says. It's muffled, half-smothered in the skin of Stiles’ collarbone like Theo wants to make sure he can take it back, but it's there, and he said it, and it doesn’t matter if he does.

Stiles doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

*

There’s still a painful ringing in Stiles’ ear the entire time he’s with Scott and Liam at the school. 

Allison’s dad looks like he’s ready to shoot whatever or whoever shows up on sight. The idea of a gunshot isn’t exactly comforting. 

The encounter with Parrish, the Beast, and a pile of dead bodies doesn’t do much to soothe the pain either, what with his heartbeat hammering in his skull.

“That’s big,” Stiles says, staring right into the Beast’s glowing eyes when it shows itself. “No one said it was that big.”

Liam looks at him. “I did.”

Alright, maybe he did, but still. 

There’s a round of snarling and roaring from Parrish and the Beast. The sound pierces right through his eardrums. Stiles winces, closes his eyes for a second and opens them to find Liam watching him.

He swallows, gives Liam a shake of his head. “I’m fine,” he says.

Parrish and the Beast run off into the distance, vanish into the darkness. 

Scott leaves with Argent while Stiles has to drop Liam off. 

They sit in the Jeep in silence for most of the ride, until Stiles gets annoyed at Liam’s constant fidgeting in his seat and asks, “Dude, what?”

Liam lifts his eyebrows, shrugs one shoulder. “Nothing, just—” He licks his lips. “—are you okay? To play the game, I mean. Tomorrow.”

Stiles frowns, tries to keep his eyes on the road. “Yeah, why?”

“I think you’re bleeding.”

He does look at Liam, this time. Liam gestures at his ear, concern creasing his forehead. Stiles stops the car and wipes it off on the sleeve of his hoodie, curses under his breath.

“Lydia?” asks Liam. Stiles answers with a nod. Liam meets his eyes, chewing on a lip, nods. “I can walk from here.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Okay.”

Liam opens his mouth, closes it. Frowns. “Thanks for the ride,” he says, but Stiles isn’t sure that’s what he meant to say.

*

Trying to talk his dad into cancelling the game proves to be entirely fruitless, and since telling people that a ginormous monster is about to turn the match into a bloody massacre isn’t an option, it doesn’t leave them much choice.

He and Scott work with what little wiggle room they have. Between setting everything up and getting Coach checked out, Stiles doesn’t have much time to think about Theo.

“Just out of curiosity,” Malia brings up as they’re going over the plan for the night, “what if it doesn't work? What if we have to go up against this thing? I mean, I hate to bring up bad memories but Scott's still healing from what Theo did to him.”

Stiles glances down and back up at Malia. It’s like a wave of insecurity fills the room at the mention of Theo’s name, but no one acknowledges it.

Stiles texts him just before they get out on the field. It’s an unimportant, _where are you?_ that Theo doesn’t answer. 

Then, when Coach doesn’t forfeit the game, he starts getting a little worried. Maybe they could use Theo’s help, whether Scott wants it or not, but the plan’s still in motion, kind of. 

Malia’s still going to take out the wiring on the TV vans, which buys them a little time to improvise. Not that roughly an hour and a half to try to find someone with blood on their shoes while playing a lacrosse game is easily doable, but they have a pretty good selection of supernatural creatures working together—it shouldn’t be impossible.

But then of course, it can only get worse from there.

Kira is like a bulldozer on the field, Malia is nowhere to be seen even though she hasn’t gotten all the vans, Stiles hits his head on a freaking pipe, and then it all really goes to shit.

The high-pitched noise one the vans emits as it starts transmitting is bad enough, but the familiar roar of the Beast in the distance is enough to send everyone running for their lives. 

Except Liam, who goes straight for the damned thing. 

Fuck.

“Liam, wait!” Stiles shouts, but Liam’s already midair, claws out, which of course ends badly for him.

The Beast doesn’t seem set on killing him, luckily, so Stiles and Hayden grab him the first chance they get and run straight into the school’s main building, each of Liam’s arms on their shoulders.

“The desk, the desk,” Stiles says when his knees get weak from the strain of Liam’s weight.

They clean it out and drag Liam up, try to get a look at his wounds. Stiles peels off part of Liam’s torn jersey and, fuck, okay—is that skin that just came off with it?

Liam groans. “What? Is it bad?”

“No,” Hayden says. At the same time, Stiles mutters, “Very.”

They exchange a look.

“Okay. Okay.” Hayden breathes. “What do you—what do you guys usually do when this happens?”

“Oh, um, I usually pass out. And I think I still might—do that.”

That’s a lot of blood. A lot. Like, really. Just blood. And skin, everywhere.

“Stiles!”

Stiles shakes his head. “Okay, okay. Scott did this with pain. He could trigger it. Pain makes you human.”

“He's already in pain,” Hayden protests, agitated.

“Right, okay, but maybe adding a little more could help take away the pain.”

Hayden nods, whispers, “Take away his pain,” and kisses Liam.

Really kisses him. Stiles feels a bit like the third wheel, but it works. He can see it, the moment it leaves Liam’s body and bleeds right through Hayden’s skin.

Stiles swallows and his ears pop painfully. Now would be a real good time for Theo to read that message and show up. It’s not like Stiles is asking for much, if anything at all.

“’Kay, next time I'll kiss him,” he mutters, mostly to himself but loud enough that Theo might catch it if he’s close.

Hayden gives Stiles a funny look, like she thinks he’s talking about Liam and not Theo, and while kissing Liam may not be horrible, Stiles hasn’t exactly thought about it.

“Can you walk?” she asks Liam, and Liam nods, sits up.

Stiles glances up at him. Liam blinks, swallows so hard Stiles can see his throat bobbing. “I’m gonna go look for Scott,” he says. 

Maybe it’s the way he says it, maybe it’s the way he looks at Stiles, but Stiles feels transparent. Like Liam can see right through his skull and into his thoughts.

“Alright, I’ll—I’ll go look for my dad,” Stiles says.

Liam nods, hesitates before patting Stiles on the arm. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Liam knows.

Fuck.

Stiles watches them go out into the hallway with a sick feeling in his stomach, and it’s not because of the blood. The door swings shut after them, isolates Stiles from the world even if just for a moment.

Stiles slides to the floor and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. 

It shouldn’t surprise him anymore, that things didn’t go according to plan. He doesn’t even want to think about the body count the Beast’s left behind by now. 

There are hundreds of people at the school and only a handful of them have healing powers—him most definitely not included. There’s zero chance he’d survive a blow to the stomach like Liam just did. 

He’s not void, there’s no Nogitsune inhabiting his body. He’s just Stiles. 

Human, fragile.

“Stiles!”

Stiles’ head snaps in Theo’s direction. “Theo, what are you doing here?”

“I caught your scent.” Theo glances over his shoulder before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “Stiles, what the hell is going on?”

“The Beast, we—we had a plan.”

“Let me guess. It didn’t work out,” Theo says, kneeling in front of Stiles. He touches the side of Stiles’ face, frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

Stiles bats Theo’s hand away. “It’s nothing.”

“Lydia could have killed you.”

He glances up to meet Theo’s eyes. “Are we having this conversation again?”

“I’m stating a fact.”

“Well, don’t,” Stiles says as he scrambles to his feet. He rubs at the trail of blood on his skin. “I’m human, alright? I don’t have super strength or the ability to heal overnight. I’m not a werewolf or a werecoyote or a chimera. I’m not void.” He chews at the inside of his cheek, finds Theo’s gaze and holds it. “The Nogitsune’s gone. Forever.”

“Stiles.”

“Just go,” Stiles mutters. “I don’t want anyone finding us here.”

“I don’t care.”

“Scott would kill you if he knew.” Stiles paces around the room, just to put some distance between them. “I’m pretty sure he’d kill me, too.”

“You know he wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Because he’s not like us!” Theo shouts, flinches, like his own voice startled him. The sound of it pierces right through Stiles’ ear and he feels himself get lightheaded, the blood draining from his face. Theo’s gulp is audible even across the room. “Sometimes we don’t have a choice. Sometimes we have to do what needs to be done, Stiles.”

Stiles sets his jaw, looks at Theo even though his vision starts to blur at the sides. “Collateral damage,” he says, remembers the words when Theo said them.

“Stiles?”

“I’m—fine.” Stiles stumbles hard into something, almost loses his balance. He can see Theo’s shape approaching, but he can’t make out Theo’s face. “Theo?”

Oh, great. 

He’s passing out.


End file.
